


Armour

by Canislupusarctos



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Depression, Dysfunctional Family, Family Issues, HashiMada BigBang 2018, Injury, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mutual Pining, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 01:36:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16588238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canislupusarctos/pseuds/Canislupusarctos
Summary: Pretty much Madara, Hashirama, how they protect themselves psychologically, their connection to one another, and an incident in which it would have been a good idea for Madara to wear armour.Based off the prompt “Armour” for the Hashimada Big Bang.





	Armour

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sure how this strayed so far from my original idea, but let’s just say it was supposed to be one chapter and start with a scene taking place after the last scene of the second chapter, which I’m currently writing.

“Shouldn’t you be wearing armour, aniki?  You are the heir to the clan, which will make you a target.”

 

Turning to face Izuna, chin up and Mangekyou activated, Madara replied, “I don’t need it.”

 

_ It’s suffocating,  _ he didn’t say,  _ if I put it on, I might stop breathing and never start again.   _ Izuna frowned at him.  “Isn’t that a little...risky?”

 

Madara huffed, “I just won’t let them land a blow that serious.  Besides, what’s a battle without raging blood? If they get me a few times, leave some scars, it’ll just make me stronger, and be a reminder of what I survived.  I won’t forget the lessons each battle teaches me.”

 

He hadn’t always been that way.  In the past, when he was very young, Madara wore armour.  But, after Izuna began to leave the safety of the clan compound, because there wasn’t enough money for everyone to have armour at the time, Madara only passed on armour because, if he didn’t, Izuna would be unprotected.  Now, though there were funds enough for the entire main line of the family plus many other Uchiha to have armour, Madara still refused. It wasn’t exactly a secret to Izuna that it was because of Madara’s relationship to Hashirama.  Madara was already weighted down so much that if any more weight were added, he might just be dragged down by it. Hashirama had worn armour, his Mokuton had been to protect, and he’d always wanted to protect. To Madara, armour was another reminder of his broken bond that he didn’t need.  Its weight would press in on him and drag him down, simultaneously.

 

“Let’s go, Izuna.  You still need to settle the score with Tobirama, don’t you?”

 

“But~” Izuna cut himself off as Madara swept out of the room, leaving no one to hear his voice, always silenced, snatched away.

 

Madara hadn’t been ready to join the other Uchiha yet, so instead, he had hidden by the back of his family’s house until Izuna left.  Once Izuna was gone, he let himself go. He would never throw so much as a pillow with his brother around, at least, not outside of a pillow fight.  But now, he punched the wall as hard as he could. Attacking it with a beyond cruel vengeance, trying to erase it, erase his past with the blood on his fists, Madara paid no heed to the consequences of his actions.  He had to do this, or the anger, the fear, the helplessness, the desperation, the longing, the sadness, and the strange emotion Madara did not know was love would become weakness instead of strength. He would tear his hands up so badly his katana would shake in battle, and it was a lesson he would never learn, because he had so many scars on his hands he no longer remembered the story of each one, which was what made him stronger, how he learned from his past, the past he was trying to erase from the world.

 

Eventually, coming to his senses just slightly, Madara realized he had to go or else someone would come looking for him.  Looking down at his bloodied hands, it was obvious he would have to use a henge to avoid the notice of everyone else. Bone and muscle were visible, a stark, dry, almost dessicated white among damaged pinkish-white cords of muscle, and crimson red blood.  It took more effort than it should have to form the hand seals. “Dammit, Hashirama. This wouldn’t be happening if I’d never met you, yet if I said I regretted it in the least, I’d be lying.”

 

Then, Madara took his time joining the other Uchiha, ignoring the disgustingly adoring glances sent his way by other members of the clan.  They thought he was lucky, no doubt. He knew there were already people interested in him, not only because he was the heir to Uchiha Clan, but for his personal merit as well.  Yet, for all their knowledge of his accomplishments, they knew nothing of him as a person. It made Madara sick that anyone would be so impudent as to attempt to insert themselves as the lifelong partner and closest person to someone they didn’t even know.  The only person who truly knew him was Hashirama. Even Izuna didn’t know him as well, didn’t understand his yearning for true peace.

 

As he weaved his way towards the front of the group about to leave for a battle with the Senju, Izuna stopped him.  “Where were you? You left before I did!”

 

Madara turned his red, yet cold, gaze on his brother, voice quiet and warning.  “It is none of your concern.”

 

Izuna’s expression changed, flickering between controlled and sad.  He knew his brother was locking him out, only allowing him to see certain things.  “You worry me, and worrying isn’t even usually the role of a younger sibling.”

 

“Then don’t worry.”

 

Tears stung Izuna’s eyes, but he wouldn’t let them fall, especially when Naori and Hikaku were approaching.  Madara turned and walked the rest of the way to Tajima, at the head of the large group. Naori asked, “What’s going on with him?  He’s been off for a while now.”

 

Hikaku studied Izuna for a moment, and Izuna knew Hikaku could see right through him.  But he didn’t reveal his observation of Izuna’s tears. “Did he...lose someone?”

 

Gulping nervously, Izuna choked out, each word of the lie like a sharp knife in his throat, “No.  He’s just not used to all his new responsibilities yet, so he’s a little snappish and hasn’t slept enough because of them.”

 

Both Naori and Hikaku narrowed their eyes just slightly at Izuna, Naori’s cloudy, blind eye so closely resembling a Byakugan that Izuna almost believed she could see every fiber of his being and chakra.  And though Hikaku had not used Izanagi or Izanami, his obsidian eyes, Sharingan deactivated, were nearly as piercing. Naori spoke again, “Are you sure  _ you’re  _ okay?”

 

Lying through his teeth once again, chin up, looking directly into the two adults’ eyes, Izuna laughed, “Of course!  What would make you think otherwise?”

 

_ I want to kill those Senju who hurt aniki so badly,  _ he didn’t say.

 

Meanwhile, Tajima was giving Madara a disapproving look for being late.  Madara pretended not to notice, but it hurt. Another thing that hurt him before he took it the way he took any other injury.  As it scarred, it made him stronger, became another piece of the armour that both protected and suffocated him. Though, it was nothing compared to the breaking of his bond with Hashirama.  Nothing could compare to that, and Tajima had caused that too. But, Tajima had only even found out because Izuna was a  _ traitor _ .  Chin up, looking his father in the eye with no apparent shame or fear, Madara activated his Mangekyou, pretending it caused him no pain.  “Those Senju won’t wait forever, otou-sama.”

 

Tajima couldn’t see through his son’s facade, but there was something extraordinarily ominous and deep about his Mangekyou.  They had something that no other Uchiha’s Mangekyou possessed, and it chilled him to the bone, yet he also wanted it. Instead of commenting on it, and the fact that he knew Madara had activated them to prove a point, he turned and ordered the rest of the Uchiha, “Move out!”

 

Most hadn’t noticed the quiet exchange between “father” and “son”, but those who did could tell something was deeply, intrinsically flawed about their relationship.  There was something, deep down, that had broken, creating a chasm almost too large to see across between them. But, the “son” understood the “father” better than the “father” understood him, for his eyes were far superior.  It was this that no one save for the “son” knew, and would ever know. Among the crowd of dark-clothed, dark-haired, red-eyed Uchiha, Madara could at least pretend he fit in, that he was normal. But deep down, he knew something essential had broken inside him, and that the weight of his armour was dragging him down into a watery abyss.  And it wouldn’t be like when he was a naïve child, taking for granted the ability to float serenely beneath the water’s surface, then to break through it with ease, unappreciative of the oxygen that was so easy to fill his lungs with. It wasn’t like he really wanted to, either.  _ I would be better off dead.  Then I wouldn’t have to bear the pain of others, or of hurting Hashirama. _


End file.
